


Questions

by sinners_sandwich



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: AU, M/M, One Shot, well it's AU in that jon moxley and leakee exist at the same time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-24
Updated: 2015-10-24
Packaged: 2018-04-27 21:05:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5064115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinners_sandwich/pseuds/sinners_sandwich
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On opportunities, unfriendly competition and coconut soap. (Moxley/Leakee)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Questions

**Author's Note:**

> aahrhafjsf this is really rambly and terrible i am sorry!!! i wanted to try my hand at these assholes, and kinda look into their dynamic, at least from one side (who doesn't love to hate jon moxley tbqh). feedback is appreciated as always and ty for reading :>

Jon Moxley is not a patient man.

He's not patient, but he knows how to spot an opportunity, and he knows you have to be in the right place at the right time to even get to that bit. He's two parts persistence, one part sheer entitlement, and just a dash of pre-emptive rage at the idea of ever being turned away from his prize--whatever, or whoever, that may be. Wrap that all up in rugged good looks, the acrid smell of smoke and success, and a ratty denim vest, and he'd say you got the portrait of a made man.

Said denim vest does nothing to protect his bare chest and abdomen from the biting cold air tonight, but that keeps him awake, keeps him alive, and balances the restlessness that suffocates and heats him from the neck up as he paces the far end of the small parking lot.

And he waits. For what little time he's willing to, he waits for a sign, a signal, something.

It's thirty or forty minutes after the last match wrapped up in the building across from him, and despite that Mox didn't have a match lined up tonight himself, here he is--waiting for opportunity. Despite his reputation for having next to nothing going on in his thick skull, he always keeps a close eye on things--who goes into that building, who comes out of it, and more importantly, who's shaking hands with the guys in charge.

It is to his absolute fucking relief to see a familiar face walk out of that building just ten seconds after his patience has run dry. Mister tall-dark-and-loathsome himself, despite being surrounded by four or five of them, always manages to look completely out of place in the company of friends. And Mox, well. Place him in this sea of enemies and strangers, and he's never anything less than _right at home_.

He knows he doesn't have to approach the other side of the parking lot for Leakee to notice him. For as little time as they've actually spent together, there's a resounding spark of repulsion that always wants to make itself known between them, usually leading to something a little better. And Mox doesn't even have to look over there, really, to feel Leakee's eyes focusing in and casting judgment toward the cigarette Mox is lighting up.

Mox leans against a wall as he smokes, listening to the sound of laughter and friendly argument from a conversation he's not close enough to make out the words of, wouldn't care to know the context of even if he could. He's waiting for the sound of footsteps leaving the scene; laughter fading 'til he can't hear it anymore, and makes a little wager with himself while he's left waiting.

Sure enough, it all goes down as he thought. Leakee's friends have either ditched him or been sent away, and the sound of the footsteps approaching him are too heavy and deliberate to belong to anyone but the man in question.

"Are you standing here for a reason?" Leakee asks, his voice drawn and controlled. Mox can hear an accusation laced in there somewhere.

Eyes goes cast up to Leakee's face, and Moxley makes it a point not to fix his own slouch. "Can't a boy have a crush on someone these days without makin' headlines? Guess I'm just that hard to ignore."

Leakee catches on quicker than he would've in the past, his expression showing no surprise at the indirect response, not hiding anything either. He simply looks off to the side, accepting that what they do is what they're gonna _keep_  doing, at least until Moxley decides otherwise.

"You play these games with everyone, Moxley?" Leakee asks, a question Mox is sure he's been asked plenty before. It draws a reprehensible smile to his face, but he waits for Leakee to finish--Leakee doesn't, like he's resigned to being interrupted by him no matter the topic.

"Nah, sweetheart, what we got is somethin' _special_ ," Mox finally laughs at him, choking on smoke he hadn't totally finished pulling into his lungs. His grin painfully splits the not-quite-healed cut on his lip and he licks over a bit of congealed blood; he actually always hated the taste of it, but the distaste keeps his fire running at the moment.

"Ain't that cool? Souvenir from a little run-in a couple hours back," he drawls, watching closely while Leakee's eyes focus in on that little cut. "It'll heal right up, don't you worry. Fuckers can't break my spirit so they gotta settle for marking up the money-maker."

Those dark eyes snap to his, colored with something like amusement. Cause Mox is always the perpetrator in every scrape he gets into, but somehow always the victim too. "How long have you been waiting here?"

"Questions, questions, questions!" Mox's voice is suddenly booming. "Questions, that's all you ever got. You got any answers, big guy? Ey? You big fuckin' lunk?" He flings his cigarette to the ground and stomps on it, not properly crushing it out. "Or you just waiting for me to give you an excuse to hit me?"

"There's not enough reasons in the world _not_  to hit you. And you're the one who was waiting." Leakee actually smiles a bit, not looking the least bit like a man who just got yelled at, even if there's no warmth in the look. "What _are_ you waiting for? Needed someone to kiss your boo-boo better, knew no one else would be up for it?"

"Yeaah," Mox says--with a sarcastic gape of his mouth because it's just more damn questions. "How's this for an answer then. You, you benevolent fucking jackass, you either do that now or I'll stick my boot in your nuts."

Leakee laughs. Dry and twisted with distaste. "How about no."

"Kiss me, prick."

"Don't think I like your tone, Moxley."

"Dick kick it is then! Don't say I didn't warn you. One, two..."

Leakee dives in more like someone looking to land a punch than anything else, but Mox is ready, catches his wrist and twists him into a kiss that Leakee doesn't resist in the least bit. Lips find teeth, aggression always marking the contact. Mox doesn't have a problem with this. He finds it more fun when people aren't totally comfortable with wanting him.

Moxley wouldn't say he likes kissing the guy. But this far into being acquainted to each other, at least Leakee doesn't expect anything Mox isn't willing to give. He doesn't try to _fix_  him. Doesn't try to get him to clean up his act, like some people will try to do.

Hates him as-is, Mox likes to think. And he's always willing to engage in a fight.

He lets Leakee bear into the kiss, lets him do it so hard that Mox's head is forced back uncomfortably, lets him taste the bitter smoke he knows Leakee hates. The smell of cigarettes is gonna be all over the guy no matter if they end this encounter in two minutes or next morning--and he loves that fact, loves leaving his mark where it isn't really wanted.

Loves to be an inconvenience really. To that end, when it's clear Leakee's enjoyed too much control over the kiss than is strictly necessary, Mox bites his tongue, forcing the man to draw back with an irritated curl of his lip.

"C'mon, sweetheart," Mox mutters, smiling and keeping as much distance between them as the wall behind him will allow. Leakee doesn't seem eager to close the gap again, one hand pressed firm against Mox's bare chest--a warning--while the other reaches up to dab at his own lips, where blood from Mox's split lip has marked him. "Don't tell me you're squeamish," Mox leans in to brush lips against his again, and Leakee is still--very still--before tentatively pressing back into it. "Li'l blood and spit never hurt anyone."

"I'll be sure to remind you of that later." Leakee's words please him and annoy him, all in the same go. "But for now--"

"Y'mean this isn't just a quickie in the parking--"

"You stay quiet when I'm talking," Leakee hisses. Mox is silent, in the smuggest way possible, while Leakee draws back. "You taste like ass and smell like shit. You need to clean up first."

It's an invitation in its own way, and Mox knows--with as stuck-up and proper as the guy always was--that Leakee's crass language is yet another mark Mox has left on him. Or at least a sign Leakee's realized he's got to communicate in Mox's language, because the rules to follow around here are his, have always been _his_.

"'I'll be sure to remind you of that later'," he mocks him, counting it as a win as he follows him to his car--lighting another cigarette, just to prove he can.

 

* * *

 

Over time, Leakee's proven himself to be someone who won't give you an inch. Maybe it's because he doesn't want people like Moxley taking a mile. Maybe he's just that possessive of his inches. Maybe he really does believe there isn't a damn soul out there worth some kind of reaction from his precious self, no chance of being proven wrong.

And who is Mox if not someone with nothing to lose and everything to prove?

"How long were you standing out there?" Leakee asks, breaking the silence that's settled since the look of aggravation he shot him earlier for smoking in the car. This is the first time Mox has ever actually been shown where Leakee lives, but neither one of them brings that up.

"What's it matter to you? I was minding my own business til I got so rudely interrupted." Mox is honest to God so infuriated by the guy's endless questions. Maybe he should be flattered, but he knows that shit is nothing but suspicion on Leakee's end.

"I know you weren't just hanging around, Moxley." Leakee waits for him to strip off his jacket and kick out of his loose jeans before shoving him very rudely into the shower stall.

Mox lets out a colorful curse as cold water sprays down on him, trying to force his way back out until it warms up, but Leakee's right there, giving him no goddamn wiggle room or privacy to speak of, forcing him back in like he's washing his cat. Mox feels about as antagonized as one.

"Fine," Moxley says finally, his teeth set to chattering as the water takes its sweet time getting hot. "You got me. I was out there, daydreamin' about you and your glorious cock, waiting for you to whisk me away and pound me into next Tuesday. You fucking prick," he adds, for good measure.

Leakee looks suspiciously amused, but not in a way that says that's actually what he wanted to hear, and Mox gives him one indelicate gesture with his hand before mirroring it with the other, because he can screw off with trying to know more about Mox's methods.

"Just call me an asshole and get it over with. See, this is already weird enough with me smelling like your--your rose petal soap." He says, as he scrubs said soap across every available surface he's got.

"'Rose petal soap'."

"Well it's something very flowery, I can tell that much."

Leakee leans his elbow against the wall beside him, evidently having not enough damn shame to hide that he's lazily checking him out. "Do you not know what a coconut smells like, Jon?"

"Excuse me for not growing up on a fucking island," Mox speaks through his teeth, wanting nothing more than to claw and kick his way out of the stall, and it's not exactly because of the mild insult. It's the way he's looking at him, like Mox doesn't quite belong here and Leakee's taking every available advantage of his presence, eyes going wherever they like.

"I'm going to let that one go," Leakee replies, looking just too pleased with himself for evidently getting under his skin--leaning in so his head is nearly in the stall too. "Because I want to know why you didn't come up to me when my friends were around. You really that shy, Moxley?"

"Fuck you." Mox laughs. So abruptly that he ducks forward and shampoo sort of slips too close to his eyes, and he can feel them burning, but he still looks back at Leakee through it. He knows Leakee is goading him. Teasing him just enough to get something of an honest answer out of him.

"Y'know," Mox drawls, after a moment taken to wash shampoo out of his eyes. "I just happen to like my chances better when you don't have any backup. Besides, those guys who were with you? I know for a fact one or two of them knows things about me that'd definitely send you packing if they decided to tell you."

Leakee lifts a brow at that, not the least bit alarmed.

"Yeah? About all the small animals you kill in your spare time, that sort of thing?"

"That--" Mox pauses. "That's fucked up. Don't--just don't talk to me anymore, all right? Just don't say these _stupid_ things that evidently come into your head for no reason."

Leakee straightens up at the overreaction, almost like he's proud of himself for the insult. "Nope. My house, my rules."

"My cock, your mouth," Mox mocks his voice this time, irritation building back up in his tone, then he swats a soapy hand at the guy, getting his shirt wet. "Get outta here, not like I'm gonna steal your damn toothbrush."

"Wouldn't put it past you."

"Yeah, well. You, and everyone else."

Leakee leans his head back into the stall, grabs Mox's jaw, and presses his lips against the bend of it, not appearing to care that his shirt is getting soaked. "If it makes you feel any better," that low voice sounds lower in the shower stall, water pounding down beside him. "There's nothing anyone could tell me that's worse than what I already think of you."

Leakee finally gives him some damn privacy after that one, leaving the bathroom with a self-satisfied flick of his hair. Moxley's lips curl into a grimace, tongue tracing the edge of his teeth with enough force to almost cut the flesh. He knows when he's being provoked, and he doesn't have the discipline to resist.

When Mox is clean and dried off, smelling like coconuts and whatever else, he kicks open the bathroom door and steps out onto the hardwood floor of the bedroom. Naked as the day he was born, and just as ready for a fight as he was then, too.

Leakee barely has to do anything just to run aflame in Mox's thoughts. Just a look--or the tactical avoidance of one--is enough to spell competition to him. And having his intelligence mocked over the smell of a fucking coconut just seals it for him. He wants nothing more than to make the dickhead feel _something_. Mox has always fed on reactions, after all.

Leakee is sitting on the bed, shirt gone, but pants still on, like they didn't both know the reason Leakee brought him over here tonight. He sees Mox standing there, maybe spies the unpleasant smile across his face, and opens his mouth to speak, but Mox speaks first.

"No more questions outta you, sunshine," he says, a little too loud, stepping over to the bed and watching as Leakee shifts to sit on the edge of the bed, looking up at him. Mox runs a palm across the man's jaw, feeling the scrape of stubble against it. "I may have all the answers but I can't keep givin' em away for free. Got it?"

"Got it," Leakee says halfway into biting at his palm, and it's almost affectionate, makes Mox want to smack him. But the uncontested agreement soothes his prickled pride for just long enough, and fingers rake into dark hair instead.

Despite that the prick is so predictable in most ways, there's never really anything familiar to this besides the nearly unbearable heat of Leakee's body. It's like he changes his approach to dealing with Moxley every time he finds him, and each time, Moxley wonders if he'll decide he's found the right one.

Joke's on him, cause the only way to _handle_ Mox is to stop looking at him, stop talking to him, and stop thinking about him completely. He's confident he's in Leakee's head. He can tell by the sharp, expectant look the guy shoots him while his nose is pressed halfway into Mox's palm, and the twitch at the corner of his lips when he glances down to where Mox's dick waits, half-hard, for attention.

Mox is uncharacteristically quiet now, both hands braced on Leakee's head, and for a moment Leakee stiffens up, like his head is gonna be dragged somewhere he doesn't want it. Mox just smirks down at him, leans himself over and kisses him, tasting heat and smelling that aftershave that's usually way too strong for his tastes. But now it covers up the scent of coconut soap and he couldn't be happier about it.

He steals another kiss, wanting to eat up enough of Leakee's breath to make him mad. But it seems like 'angry' isn't Leakee's approach today, maybe just cause the bastard knows it'll bug him if he's not provoked. Because if they're not here to take the piss out of each other then what are they here for?

Without warning, Leakee's hand is clamped around his neck, pressing in on his throat in a way that's a little uncomfortable, and it makes Mox draw back just enough to see if there's anger on the guy's face. Leakee just shoots him a little smile, something so undeservedly cocky about it that goes straight to Mox's dick.

Leakee lets go of his neck shortly after, and Mox watches as thick fingers disappear behind the man's lips, a little smirk twitching at his own as he watches him. He knows where this is going, and he'd start shit over it--since he's played catcher the last two, maybe three times they did this--but he likes standing above Leakee a bit too much, maybe, and takes advantage of the guy looking at him with more approval than he really should.

"You got some lube around here somewhere," he says, breaking the silence with his teeth against his lip. "Yeah?"

Leakee arches a brow at him, meeting his eyes when he pulls slicked fingers free of his lips, nudged Mox's legs apart where stands, and presses one into him. "Little spit and blood never hurt anyone, isn't that right?" he speaks, smoothly, way too smoothly, and Mox has to hold back a laugh because--

"Oohh," he rasps out, head tipping back, shoulders tensing up, still standing before the seated man while two fingers work into him now. His hands clamp down on Leakee's shoulders, onto spaces of skin that are just too damn warm to be possible. "You've been waitin' all night to bust that one out on me, haven't you."

"My timing's just that good, sunshine." Mox's nicknames don't sound right in Leakee's voice, and he sort of hates the way the guy thinks he can get away with commandeering his catchphrases right and left.

"Fuck you," Mox says. "And also, fuck you twice if you think you're getting in me without any lube. Seriously."

Leakee curves his fingers in, stretching them apart, rubbing at an angle that draws a rough moan from Mox's lips, but he's not any happier about the idea of getting ripped in half by the monster that is Leakee's junk. The guy thankfully reaches over to the nightstand, grabbing a decently sized bottle of it and coating his fingers over before pushing them back inside, and yeah, that feels much better.

Mox chews into his lip, ignoring how his knees want to buckle out where he stands, ignoring how Leakee's definitely fingering him more than he is stretching him out, because damn if it isn't working for him.

"Shit," he growls into the air, after a long silence. Buckling forward, so his knees drop against the bed and he's spread over the guy's lap, hands working his fly open, yanking his slacks down until Leakee can kick them off without forcing Mox to move. He shoves Leakee back with a hand to his chest, a crooked smile crossing his face when the man doesn't move to sit back up, just getting up on one elbow and staring at him.

Watching as Mox puts way too much lube in the palm of his hand and goes to town on his dick, making more of a mess than anything.

Leakee's hips move into his fist, and a hand reaches back to grip Mox's ass before fingers are pushing back into him, working him up all the way up until Mox is getting on with it, shifting forward and sitting slowly down on his cock. Mox pointedly avoids his eyes now, not wanting to ruin how damn good that feels by acknowledging who that length is attached to, right then.

He keeps his eyes shut, his lubed palms against Leakee's chest, and goes after his own satisfaction the way he goes after everything else he wants. Nothing held back.

Later on, he thinks, maybe even tomorrow, those friends of Leakee's will all gather around him again, each one ready to fill his ears with stories about Moxley, with the things he's done and his history with other people in the industry, if only they knew about their little encounters in the first place.

It's like Leakee's sensed his thoughts, almost, in the fact that he chooses right then to turn Mox over onto his back and take control of the pace; taking it slower than Mox was, teeth scraping across his jaw when Mox starts shouting out complaints in a voice that's more breath than sound.

He doesn't give Leakee any warning when he's about to start messing with him again--just craning his head back and quieting his hoarse, wordless sounds enough that he can make out a sentence again. "Sweetheart," he breathes, into his ear, getting just a strained grunt back from Leakee as he continues to work his hips--hard and slow--into him. "How many of those friends of yours know about us?" They're not in a relationship, obviously. But there's been enough between them, enough of whatever this is, that there is, undoubtedly, some kind of _us_.

He thinks Leakee is gonna leave his response at the dry laugh he gets, but after a beat, the man lifts himself up, removing his nose and teeth from the ridiculous bruise he's marked into crook of Mox's neck. He stares down at him, watching the flicker of Mox's eyelids every time his dick drives into him just right.

But Leakee does speak, after a moment, without stopping the rock of hips. "Depends. How many of them you think were my friends?" he shoots back, with a lick of his lips.

Moxley laughs. He wants to laugh a little too hard, considering the rest of the exertion he's going through at the moment, and it leaves him wheezing, between gasps of aggravated pleasure. "Stop with the fucking questions."

"You sure?" Leakee's tongue swipes across his mouth again, and Mox bares his teeth.

"You absolute dickbag." Mox twists his head away from the kiss that's aimed at his mouth, not letting him get off the topic with that response. "None of them. None of them know, eh?"

"Well they--sure as shit wouldn't like it if they did, Jon."

"Did you think I was sparing you by not coming over there, big guy?" Mox laughs. "Think I gave two shits about your reputation? The big man on campus is afraid of a little publicity, a little scandal." He's not insulted. He's pleased. Leakee's silence following that is as much a sign toward his preference for privacy as it is a tacit admission of guilt--that no, he hasn't told his friends, for one reason or another.

Maybe he's ashamed to be associated with him, though Mox will gladly believe it's not because he's embarrassed of fucking around with him. Maybe it's because Leakee's got a bit more pride than sense, and he knows as well as him that anyone with good sense will tell him to stay the hell away from Jon Moxley. Either way, they don't know; an isolated target is the best kind, and Leakee's a willing victim.

Thinking on that, satisfaction sinks deep in his bones and heats him from the inside. He shuts his eyes again. Lips curving up, letting Leakee see his grin without cluing him in to the reason behind it, fingers curling with nails that want to gouge. He settles with scraping, nails digging into the meat of the man's arms, eyes opening at the small hiss of air that escapes Leakee's teeth.

Dark eyes meet his, this unreasonably perfect mix of bemusement and want, and for just a second he forgets his victory and just admires it.

Too aware of himself to keep doing that, he yanks on dark hair at its roots, turning the two of them back over with so much force that aggravation crosses Leakee's face even while Mox is settling back down on his dick; that's all he'll let him focus on. Mox starts sucking a dark line of marks just off the center of his throat, teeth grazing over the ridges of it, and he ignores the warning dig of short nails in his hipbones. He rocks himself against him, hard, gasping and moaning out sounds that he knows are annoyingly loud for how close they are, laughing right into it when Leakee tries to shut him up, not for the first time tonight, with a kiss.

"Such a little romantic," he growls at him, not letting him have anything but a painful clack of teeth. Patronizing, as always. Affectionate, in that cold way everyone knows better than to trust. But the dig of Leakee's nails against his ass, leaving marks that'll take a while to fade, draw a stuttered sound that is very real from his mouth--whether it's approval or anger right now, that doesn't matter. Leakee understands this is foremost a game, and Mox will let him think he's won it as long as he doesn't forget that very basic fact.

"I'll wring you dry," he continues to speak despite--because of--the lack of encouragement, breathless as little shocks of something run up his spine while his ass is burning with a satisfying kind of pain. "I'll drain you out. You think you can take Jon Moxley? Alone?" His voice is nearly gone, words barely making it out of him. "You think--you can last--you think you can _last_ when you take me on?"

"God, you talk too much," Leakee bites back a gasp to shoot back just that little bit, hips working, working, steady, beneath him.

"You are gonna be hearin' my voice in your dreams, sweetheart. Your nightmares too. When all those stupid little people find out about you n' me."

"Fuck," Leakee jerks his head; sort of back, sort of to the side, trying to get his hair out of his face maybe but only getting more of it all in it. Moxley watches, gives a shout of a laugh.

"Don't wear yourself out, now."

He doesn't get a chance to speak the filth that's just on the tip of his tongue; just like that Leakee's forced them back over once again, hanging right over his face as he pounds into him much quicker than before. Mox bites into his lip, splitting the cut open again.

"You just tryin' to piss me off, Jon?" Leakee asks, like he doesn't know for absolute fact that he is.

"Mmm," Moxley grins, legs spread apart and folded around Leakee's hips. "Shut your pretty mouth for a second, I'm almost there and you're killin' my vibe."

Leakee isn't fazed by the turn-around, and Mox wouldn't expect him to be. "Wouldn't kill you to be honest for once in your life," is what he says, and Mox opens his eyes, expecting to find the man casting unholy judgment down upon him. Instead he's met with an intent look that he doesn't really know how to read or break away from.

Amusement and anger are the only honesty he knows, so he shows him a big, bloodstained grin, and gets Leakee's voice in his ear when he finally comes, fists clenched into the sheets beneath him. He swears to God he would've kicked Leakee off him too if he hadn't finished just then, and well, he's got just enough courtesy to let the guy catch his breath.

He lifts his head from the bedspread just long enough to break the silence. "My ass is fuckin' delectable," he declares, and drops into a weak pile of limbs again. "How's that for honesty."

 

* * *

 

He expected to sleep off the feeling by morning, when he's skipping out of the place without waking the guy to say 'bye'. But he still feels off in the hours following that. Not right. Not like he's lost a match, nothing as infuriating as that, but not like he's won one either, even though getting Leakee in bed is admittedly something you could brag about to anyone. He's not too stupid to realize the guy has gotten in his head either way, raising more questions than answers with those question-answers of his, and well, Mox doesn't like it.

It's only when he's been stuck with that unease, sitting out on the hood of his car in the same parking lot as before, that _right place_ and  _right time_ converge to turn things on their head again. Leakee is gonna be mad. For sure. He might refuse to ever associate with Mox again. That's a risk he's willing to take; a question _he's_ got roiling in his head, on what Leakee's gonna do about it. It's better than whatever has been going on in his head since last night. Anything's better than letting the guy keep the upper hand.

He hops to his feet, strides over with all the confidence that makes him who he is, shoulders rolling and weight unbalancing between his feet until he comes to a stop in front of his just-too-familiar targets.

"Excuse me, gentlemen," Mox speaks up, far too loud to be ignored by the group of four men--three he vaguely recognizes, and one whose bed he was just fucked through twelve hours ago. "I have a question for you." He's jittery as always, but when his neck cranes one way, then the other, he's made a clear display of the nasty bruise on his neck, one that matches quite nice to the line of them along Leakee's throat. He catches the warning on Leakee's face when he looks at him, the uncomfortable tensing of the muscles in his neck, and most of all, the smell of cigarettes still laced into the man's hair.

He holds his sleeveless arm out to one of the men, and grins, a row of ruthless teeth as he holds Leakee's eyes--to the point anyone for a mile could see the contention there. "Do I smell like coconuts, to you?" 


End file.
